


Catch Me If You Can

by Shinobuffo



Series: Catch Me If You Can [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Banter, Bickering, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Love/Hate, Multi, Some Humor, contract marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3563000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinobuffo/pseuds/Shinobuffo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What to do when one is faced with deportation at the worst possible occasion?<br/>A fic where Clarke is desperate to buy herself a green card by marrying a certain Bellamy Blake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I've got zero knowledge when it comes to immigration policies, be gentle ok?

”Mr. Green, please have these documents sent to Indra as soon as possible. Gosh, this woman has been a total nightmare from day one of this new exhibition project. I don't understand, I’ve gone through every single document four times myself! Yet, she always found something to halt the process with.” Clarke ranted as she entered the lift.

“Dr. Griffin, I’ve gone through the documents thoroughly myself. I’m sure this time will be it.” Monty replied politely, as he pushed the button for the 8th floor.

“Pray to the lords, I hope that you’re right.”

 “Yes, Doctor. However, there’s some-“ Monty started, without being able to finish.

“Mr. Green, how does my schedule for the remaining of the week look like?” Clarke asked tiredly, as she rubbed her temples.

Looking at his tired boss, Monty dutifully pushed down what he was going to say, and replied to her first.

“With the contract signed, there’s nothing that can stop both our side and the British to fully cooperate and finalise this exhibition. But, there’s something else.”

“Yes?”

“There is someone by the name of Thelonious Jaha from immigration, that’s been trying to reach you.” At the mention of this name, he could see his boss, cringe a bit. So he quickly added:

“I’ve told him that you’re busy of course, with everything going on. However, doctor, is there something you need help with?” He finally added, his voiced laced with concerned.

Relaxing, Clarke gave him a weak smile, as she stepped out the lift. Turning around, she shook her head lightly.

“Thank you, Monty. But there’s nothing to worry about. Leave me his contact details on my desk and I’ll deal with it. It been a long week. You can leave after you sent those documents. Bye!”

She waved as the doors to the lift closed. Letting out a large sigh, she turned on her heel, heading without doubt, to yet another laborious meeting with her boss.

Standing outside his office, Clarke raised her hand to knock on the large oak doors, but stopped herself before impact. Fighting the pounding of her headache and sleep deprived body, she took a large breath and inhaled. Letting it all out, she forced herself too look, if not cheerful, at least alert before knocking.

“Doctor Griffin, when can I expect this grand exhibition of the Egyptian Legacy that you’ve so well promoted?” said the calm, but cold voice of Marcus Kane, Head Curator of the Smithsonian.

Without blinking, Clarke answered with an equally cold voice, devoid of any of her aggravating emotions.

“The project is at its finalising stages, so it will meet the deadline of three months’ time from now.”

“Three months you say? Doctor Griffin, if memory doesn’t fail me, I recall vaguely a similar statement made half a year ago.” Kane had not raised his voice, but he was sitting utterly still on his ambassador chair, behind an old desk, an antique no doubt. Not that it was her area of expertise or anything.

Clenching her fists, she schooled her face, and replied.

“Unforeseen mishaps, sir.”

“Clarke, honey, this is not an interrogation. Please, all I want to know is that this time for sure, nothing will cause a loss for the institution. As grand as the returns for your little project might be, that you assure us of by the way, all I can see so far, is that the costs has been exceeded and the request this time for the extension is pushing us thin. Do we have an understanding?”

Curse that hag, Indra! If she had only approved of her request all those months ago, things might have sailed on a different course. But pushing the blame on someone else, is not professional, and neither is it going to solve the problem.

“Of course, sir. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d like to leave. I have many things to oversee before the opening date for my _little project._ “

Clarke was all but ready to leave that dreaded office, that stunk of sour old coffee and dust, but was stopped, before she had the chance to flee.

“I see you are among the 2 candidates for the next promotion. It seems like people like you here.” Kane, started again, browsing through a heap of paperwork in front of him, not acknowledging her presence.

 _Liked?_ She had been working her ass off for this institution the moment she landed in this god forsaken land. Surely, being British might make one believe that she would be well received on account of her “exotic” background, however, her slightly posh accent from the upbringing in Oxford, labelled her as a stuck up bitch instead of the opposite. As for the few fellow kinsmen, they all had their own struggles; there was no bonding of kinship here, no.

Kane’s statement was loud and clear. If this exhibition for some reason did not meet this new deadline, or that it would not bring in the revenue she had promised, promotion would be the least of her problems. _Curse this sodded place!_ Clarke left the office, and did her best not to slam the door after her. She did try.

 

 

                                                                                              

* * *

 

 

 

 

There, Clarke just signed the last document. After the meeting with her boss from hell, she had decided to stay at work and go through some more documents to vent off some steam. It was amazing how much one can accomplish with a mind filled with murdering scenarios. She checked her cell for the time, and let out a sigh. It was 3:28AM. Guess old Gustav, would have to let her out again. Her authority badge would no longer work, and she did not want another reason for Kane to dismiss her promotion any further.

Just when she grabbed her coat and her hand bag, her phone started to buzz.

“Hello?” She answered tentatively.

“Clarke? Good god, woman, why are you still up? What time is it over there? 4AM?” Raven’s voice echoed in the silent building.

“Just a bit past half three, actually. Besides, you called me knowing very well, that I would answer.”

Clarke finally relaxed and settled down on her chair again.

“Fine, you win. You’re no fun.”

“Well, isn’t that’s why you exist?” Clarke asked, smiling.

“Damn, you're right I am.” Raven answered within a heartbeat.

“So, spill it. What is it now?”

“We’re getting married.” Came Raven’s cool voice. Her tone suggesting that it wasn’t a big deal or anything.

“Oh my days…”

“So clear that busy schedule of yours, and get your ass over here by Saturday.” Raven commanded.

“That’s in two days’ time! You want me to drop everything and fly across the country for you?” Clarke’s astonished voice replied to the audacity of her friend. Her only friend in this foreign country. So of course she would drop everything. She was, in fact, shuffling papers and files across her desk, trying to locate her diary.

“What are you saying, sister? Are you going to leave me at the altar all by myself?” Raven’s mocked hurt tone forced Clarke to hold a giggle.

“Tell me something though. What’s up with the short notice? Don’t tell me you’re showing?”

“Hah! Like that would have stopped me?”

“True. So what is it? Can’t wait to make the enslavement official?”

“Kyle? Honestly, I would not care if we got married or not. And even if we had too, I wouldn’t mind a Vegas one either. But Kyle is a bit old fashioned. He has this thing going on.”

“You mean, he’s being romantic?” By this point, Clarke had given in, and was giggling like mad.

“Oh, hush.” Raven tried to play it cool. But soon gave in herself.

Clarke finally found her diary. But on top of the diary laid her favourite baguette from o’Neils around the corner, with shredded duck and mango chutney. Attached to it, was a green sticky note from her trusted assistant.

_Eat, skipping on meals is not good for you._

“Clarke?” Raven asked worriedly.

Smiling, Clarke put the phone on speaker, as she unwrapped her present from Monty.

“Mhm.”

“What’s more important than my wedding?” Raven demanded.

Swallowing, Clarke replied.

“It seems like this country has its charm.”

“Honestly Clarke, just go home. You can work as much as you like from there. The only difference is that you can nap in a perfectly functional bed, instead of that wooden chair at that office of yours.”

“Raven, you’ve never been to my office.”

“That’s not the point. I’ll text you the location. Looking forward to finally see you, hon.”

“Indeed, I could use a break.”

“Clarke, what’s your opinion of blue?”

Stopping with her devouring motions, Clarke grabbed the phone.

“Raven!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter a certain Mr. Bellamy Blake (finally).

_“Miss Griffin, my name is Thelonious Jaha and I’m calling from the immigration office. It is most urgent that you contact me as soon as possible. Your visa is long overdue, and we have not received a new application. Please contact us to avoid dire consequences.”_

_“Miss Griffin, it’s me, Jaha, I understand that you are busy. Your assistant made sure I got that. The issue regarding your visa is however, and I stress, the single most important on your task list right now. Please contact me as soon as you get this message.”_

_“Miss Griffin, this is my last warning, you cannot avoid the issue. Come to us voluntarily, or we will make an arrest.”_

Tiredly, Clarke turned off her phone after she had listened to the last voicemail. Whoever this Jaha, Thelonious, or whatever he was, he sure was persistent. So, she had forgotten to renew her visa, so what? Would not the matter be resolved if she simply turned in the bloody application? Shrugging, she grabbed her luggage from the band, and headed to the exit.

Looking out the glass windows, she met with a sight she never imagined she would ever see. Outside, the rain was pouring so heavy, as if the survival of California depended on it. Annoyed by the inconvenience, she stopped and unzipped her carry-on to find a jacket. She hates herself for assuming that California would be greeting her with the sun. Her British roots had taught her to always be ready for wet weather despite the forecast.

The zipper on the bag was stuck, and as she struggled with it, the rem of her handbag slipped off her shoulder and the bare the contents of her life for spread for anyone who cared to see.

“You need a hand?” A voice came from above her.

Bent down on the floor grabbing her stuff like a ninja, she noticed a pair of large hands.

Those hands right now, were touching her tampons. Feeling the heat crawling up her face, she quickly grabbed her tampons from the strangers outstretched hands.

“You’re welcome.” The stranger offered a sarcastic snicker.

Zipping her handbag, she finally rose, and met eye to eye with this new stranger.

Whatever she had expected, this had not been it.

Like the  shining sun, that she had expected for Los Angeles, this tall stranger was dark with wild hair matching the current weather. It almost made her laugh. Her luck was just getting better.

“Are you done looking?” His low voice finally jolted her back to reality.

Great, now he thought she was staring at him. Clarke gave herself a mental slap, and plastered a wide, but insincere smile on her face.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was just memorising your face so I can warn the rest of the female population within the vicinity of a pervert.” Clarke said between her teeth.

“Pervert? Hey lady, I was only trying to help out.” He said as he raised his hands in surrender.

“Well, I never asked for any help.” Clarke retorted back curtly.

“Would you just chill for a sec, lady. Had I know this is the kind of treatment you get for being helpful, I’d would've just walked past.”

“It’s doctor.”

“What?”

“It’s doctor, for you. Not some lady, do I look like some damsel in distress to you?”

“More like vixen who haven’t been laid for some time.”

“You-“

“Hey, my fault ok. I’m just going to leave now.”

Clarke just stared at him without an expression. So he added:

“If your highness allows it.”

“It’s-“

“Sorry, doctor, was it? Ok, I’m leaving now.”

With his hands in the air, he carefully backed away with a few step, eyes never leaving Clarke’s.

It was Clarke who broke the contact, by ignoring his existence, and carried on to unzip her carry-on.

However, in her eagerness to get out of the place, she used too much force and the zip flew open, and knocked her contacts solution out into the entire top layer of her bag, her expensive trench coat included. The soft sand colour, got a giant blue blob on the right side of its breast.

“Oh for fucks sake!” Clarke let out.

Feeling his eyes on her back, she hurriedly zipped her bag shut, and almost ran with her trolley out the exist. But of course with her downright luck, all the nearby cabs had been claimed, and she had to run along the long line of taxis in the rain.

Raven bloody well had prepared a presidential suit for her, Clarke thought bitterly as she sat in the taxi, wet as a dock, trying to dry herself off with some flimsy Kleenex.

 

                                                                                                

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Remind me again. Why on earth am I seated next to him?!” Clarke almost roared.

“Chill, Princess, it just happens that you are my maid in honour, and Blake is Kyle’s best man.” Raven said nonchalantly. Had the situation not been so atrocious, Clarke would had laughed at that old nickname. According to Raven, her posh accent was only rivalled by the Queen herself. 

The friends were sharing a dance at the wedding, ignoring the men around them.

“It just doesn’t add up. No matter how I think about it. Of all the people out there, you had to married the man who’s best friend is that…that beast!” Clarke uttered, as Raven turned her.

“Give it a rest, Clarke, he can’t be that bad huh?” Raven tried to reassure her friend.

“He touched my lady things.”

Raven suddenly brought their weak attempt of a formal dance.

“Oh no, he didn’t?”

“He did, and worse yet, he didn’t have the decency to look embarrassed.”

“Hmm, maybe you’re right. No man in his right mind would ever touch the stuff.” Raven said as she tugged her lower lip with her teeth, a sign of when she was thinking…hard.

“Hold your horses, Raven. I can see the cogwheels inside your brain turning. This is your wedding, let this day be the one and only day where you don’t have to crack a puzzle.” Clarke giggled, making a move to resume their crappy dance.

“You’re right. No man is worth the effort.”

“No man but Kyle, right?”

“Nya, he’s alright.”

“Alright? Raven you just married the dude!”

“Fine, he’s sweet ok? But Clarke, you know, I’d always choose you first.”

“Aw, poor sod, does he know that he’s only second?”

“Second? Please, nothing comes before-“

“Donuts.!”

“Donuts!”

The both said at the same time and burst out in laugh.

“Hey, Clarke?”

“Uhm.” Clarke replied as she was trying hard not to damage her make up as she wiped off the tears.

“Thank you for being here.”

Clarke suddenly stopped, and hugged her friend dearly.

“Always.”

Releasing each other, Raven finally broke the moment.

“And Clarke, blue really does suit you.”

“Oh, shut it.”

And the girls giggled away the rest of the dance.

 

                                                                                

* * *

 

 

“Hey, _doctor,_ would you mind passing the salt?”

Ignoring him, Clarke continued to cut her rib eye in tiny little pieces.

Slamming his palms against the table, everyone stopped their conversations and looked over at the pair.

“What the hell, what in the bloody world is wrong with you?” Clarke shrieked.

“You!” And he actually pointed at her.

“No, don’t you dare putting this on me. I’m not the one lashing out on the furniture like a child.”

“The reason for lashing out is you. You’re infuriating, woman. I’ve honestly don’t get your deal. You’ve been treating me like air the entire day, no scratch that, you treat even air better than me.”

“Oh would you just stop for a minute? Does everything I do have to do with you? I’m sorry to inform you mister, but you and your ego does not warrant enough of a presence for my actions to be influenced.”

“Oh I beg your pardon, _Madame._ ” He mocked her accent by putting on a horrendous imitation.

“It’s doctor, mind you.”

“ _Doctor,_ I’m sorry to be such an inconvenience to you. I didn’t realise her majesty thought it be underneath her to pass the salt. I’m sorry to smash your illusion, but this isn’t the high court, and you do not decide who’s worthy to exist or not.”

“You-“

“It’s Bellamy Blake, for you.”

“Guys, please, just get it over. The supply tent is empty for these kinds of purposes.” Raven’s husband butted in, completely easing the tension in the air.

The people at the table, all laughed at his joke, but Clarke felt the heat once again, betraying her.

“Kyle, shut up.” Raven reprimanded her husband, by taking a swing at his head.

Clarke gave Raven a silent thank you. And excused herself from the table.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Are all British women as feisty as you?” His voice came from behind.

Clarke was determined to ignore him, erasing his existence from her senses. She could not feel him behind her, nor could she hear him.

“This game is getting boring. Won’t you just tell me what the hell’s your deal, Princess?”

That was it. Clarke stopped, and turned around.

They were quite a distance from the wedding ensemble, and no one would be able to spot them, let alone hear them.

Pointing at his large chest, she had to admit, he was firm.

“Do. Not. Call. Me that.”

“What? I heard Reyes call you that earlier. Fitting, kudos to her. It fits your perfectly.”

“She’s the only exception. Don’t you dare, call me that again.”

“Hah, I can call you whatever the hell I want. It’s not like she’s got royalties to call you that.”

Clarke was still sober, and did not make a single indication of appreciating his joke.

“Man, you are the real deal aren’t you?” Letting out a sigh, he walked around, running his fingers through his slick hair, making a mess of it all. Clarke followed his large hands, as he combed through that thick dark tousle of hair.

He had really nice hair, she thought. But then, she realised her mistake. And judging by his huge grin, she cursed herself, for being caught, _again._

“You are a pretty thing to look at yourself. If only that head of yours wasn’t attached that’s it.”

That was it. She would just have to leave now, and beg for Raven’s forgiveness later.

Turning around, she headed to the car park.

“Hey.” He grabbed her arm, and swung her around to face him.

She flicked her arms, forcing him to release his grip on her.

“What do you want from me?” She finally asked tiredly.

“Miss Clarke Griffin?” Another man’s voice sounded.

Both she and Blake turned around and saw a man in his mid 40s.

“Who’s asking?”

“Ah, we’ve talked before.”

He stretched out his arm. Her traitorous arm reacted on its own. She grabbed his outstretched hand and shook it. But when she was going to release, his grip grew harder.

Her confusion must have been shown on her face.

“Hey. Release her!” Blake tried to interfere. At first she wanted to protest, telling him to butt off. She did not need, nor want his help. But then again, whoever this man in front of her was, she realised that some help would not hurt in this kind of situation.

Ignoring Blake, the man, removed something from his back pockets.

“Clarke Griffin, you’re under arrest for trespassing.” And he handcuffed her wrist with his own.

“You…?”

“That’s right. We never actually talked, but I left a couple of voice mails on your phone. My name is Thelonious Jaha, and I’m in charge for putting you on the next flight back to London.”


End file.
